A Fool and His Money (13 page)

‘Yes, that's the fellow. I've just heard that Edward James has been hanged. Is it true that Smith gave evidence against him?'

‘Well, Smith
was
a key witness, yes. Why do you ask?'

‘I am of the opinion that Smith had an axe to grind.'

‘How come?'

‘Well, I'm afraid it's rather a long story. My sister, Gertrude, married Smith in 1903. Their son Gregory was born a year later. Smith was a bad egg from the start and my parents didn't want Gertrude to have anything to do with him. Well, a couple of years after the wedding he was involved in a bank job – they were living in the Midlands. It was a huge sum of money, about thirty thousand pounds, I think. The gang would probably have got away with it if it wasn't for one person – Edward James. He was only a young man at the time – about seventeen, I'd say. Well, the gang was caught – all except Smith. Edward James had been across the street when the bank was raided and he recognised Smith. He came forward and gave evidence – upshot was that Smith got seven years.'

Boase leaned forward in his chair.

‘So, how does this relate to the trial of Edward James?'

‘Well, when Smith came out of jail he felt he'd lost everything. Gertrude had taken the baby to my parents – she was finding things difficult on her own. After about two years, she'd met another fellow and they moved into a place together with Gregory. So, you can imagine how Smith felt when he got out. He vowed he'd get even with James. I didn't even know that he was here until I took my family to the circus – just the sort of damned fool idea he'd have. Joining the circus, I ask you.'

Trevarthen sat back on his chair and tutted. Bartlett lit his pipe.

‘And? What exactly are you trying to tell us, Mr Trevarthen?'

‘I'm not sure, except to say that I find it all rather strange that he gave evidence against Edward James after openly admitting back then that he'd do anything, yes, anything to get even.'

Bartlett got up from his seat.

‘But this is extraordinary! Are you actually telling us that Smith's statement might have been false, and made just to get back at Edward James?'

‘I'm worried that may be the case.'

‘But … but, why on earth didn't you say something before now? A man's been hanged, for goodness' sake.'

‘I've only just found out what happened – I've been working away and have been out of the county for several weeks. My wife told me what's been going on when I returned yesterday. I'm so sorry, Inspector Bartlett.'

‘This is incredible, Mr Trevarthen – but I don't suppose you can be held to account for any of this. I can see it's not your fault. Thank you for letting us know.'

‘Is there anything I can do, Inspector?'

‘Well, no, I'm sorry to say there isn't. But thank you, Mr Trevarthen. Are you still in touch with your sister?'

‘My sister died twelve years ago – I guess that's why Gregory went with his father into the circus. That man's always been a loser. Good day, Inspector Bartlett. Constable Boase.'

Bartlett sat back down in his chair.

‘I knew it. I knew it. I had a feeling something wasn't right. Didn't I say to you, Boase?'

‘But you couldn't know that Smith would give false evidence – or even that it
was
false evidence.'

‘No, but I
knew
something was wrong – I should never have let Greet interfere.'

‘You couldn't stop him, sir.'

‘He thinks we take too long over things, Boase, but look what happened in his haste.'

‘Well, there's nothing we can do now, sir, except hope that the evidence was truthful and valid. And really there was no one else it could have been – it was Edward's gun.'

‘Yes, but did Greet find out if someone else could have taken it?'

‘Well, we know he investigated every eventuality.'

‘So
he
says. And …'

‘And what, sir?'

Bartlett leaned back in his chair and looked out of the window onto the street below.

‘What if there was another gun the same? Did he look into that?'

‘Sir, I don't know – you're asking me impossible questions. What are the chances of there being another gun the same?
We
didn't look far into that, if we're honest.'

Boase had had enough. Bartlett was letting this prey on his mind now, and in a negative way.

‘Sir, you really have to drop this now.'

‘No, I don't. I'm going to see Howard Smith.'

‘Sir, please. Just leave it!'

Bartlett was already putting on his coat and was out of the door by the time Boase had got up from his seat to follow.

Bartlett knocked at the door of Howard Smith's caravan. He waited and soon Gregory Smith answered.

‘Young man, is your father in?'

‘Yes. Come in. Dad, someone to see you.'

Howard Smith was reading a newspaper. He stood up.

‘Gregory, go and get me some fags.'

The older man tossed a coin in his son's direction as he left the caravan.

‘What do you want?'

‘I have a reason to suspect you of being disingenuous.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘The statement you gave about Edward James … was it true?'

‘Course it was true – everyone knows he killed the old man.'

‘I'm not interested in your opinion – were you telling the truth when you said you saw Edward James going to the seafront?'

Howard Smith laughed.

‘No. No, I didn't see him. But why wouldn't he kill the old man? He was happy to keep taking his money, everyone knew that. That man ruined my life – I even nearly lost my kid because of him … and spent seven long years banged up … yes, and it was all down to him.'

‘Are you telling me that you gave a false statement and lied on oath at that man's trial?'

Realising the situation, Howard Smith tried to run to the door but Boase stood across it.

‘Arrest him, Boase.'

As Boase stepped forward, Howard Smith lunged at him, pushing him back through the small caravan door. Boase landed on his back at the bottom of the caravan steps and Smith was gone. Bartlett came running out of the caravan.

‘You OK, Boase?'

‘Sorry, sir.'

Boase was standing up and the two men looked after Smith who was running at top speed along the side of the wall to the exit.

‘Do you think he'll come back, sir?'

‘Yes. His son is here – and so we will be. I can wait. Put someone up here to look out for him on his return.'

‘Will do, sir. So, looks like it's true then – I thought Trevarthen was making it up. It sounded so far-fetched, about that bank job and all.'

‘Looks like he was right, though. Smith won't get away with this. Look – here's the boy back.'

Gregory Smith had returned with the cigarettes.

‘Where's my dad?'

Bartlett put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

‘He's just gone off – he'll be back, don't you worry.'

‘What did you say to him?'

‘Nothing, son.'

‘I'm not your son – go away.'

Gregory ran up the caravan steps and slammed the door shut behind him.

Boase brushed off his coat and he and Bartlett returned to the station.

‘I want him brought in, Boase – he won't get away with this. How could anyone harbour such hate for another human being? Greet is going to hear about this too. I
knew
he should have stayed out of this.'

Boase put a cup of tea in front of Bartlett and sat down behind his own desk. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a paper bag.

‘Hungry, sir? Only I've got a small pasty here if you'd like a corner.'

‘No. Thank you, Boase. I don't even think I can eat my dinner tonight. I feel sick. I don't know what Caroline will say – and Irene, especially as she puts so much effort into cooking me a dinner. No, I couldn't eat a thing, that's for sure.'

‘You will when you see it, sir. Just wait. You'll sit at the table, Irene will bring you a bottle of Leonard's and then some dinner – what's it tonight? Bet it's a steak pie with loads of gravy. Or, how about a piece of haddock with those lovely potatoes Irene makes? Then there'll probably be a suet pudding – or, no, wait, an apple pie!'

‘Boase – are you angling for an invitation to supper?'

‘Of course not, sir. I'm just worried for you – it's not like you to turn down your dinner. I'm just trying to build up your appetite.'

‘You're getting on my nerves, that's what. Come round at seven. There's always plenty and Irene will be happy to see you.'

‘You don't have to invite me, sir, really you don't.'

‘Just say yes, before I change my mind.'

‘Well, then – yes. Thank you, sir.'

Bartlett started to feel a bit better; Boase was very capable of cheering someone up – although he bordered perilously on irritating at times.

‘Dad, is it true that when you were in London, you ate jellied eels?'

Caroline Bartlett held her handkerchief up to her mouth.

‘I know, Mum – it's disgusting. I told Archie and he didn't believe that people ate that.'

Bartlett put down his knife and fork.

‘I don't know who told you that, Irene, but I can most definitely assure you that it is not true. Yes, it's a local delicacy in my part of the world but I cannot imagine why anyone would want to put that into their mouth.'

Irene was giggling.

‘I'm sure you told me that you had it before, Dad.'

‘I never did – and now, if you don't mind, I want to continue with my meat and potato pie – which is very good, by the way.'

Boase smiled, happy to see Bartlett eating and seemingly having got over his earlier upset. He bent down towards the floor and held out a piece of meat for Topper who was lying next to him. The dog took it gently then promptly went to Bartlett and placed his paw on his master's leg.

‘Oh, I see – Boase has run out of food and so you come to me? Well, here you are – this is for being a very good boy.'

Bartlett offered the dog some more meat and patted his faithful friend's head.

Caroline cleared away the plates.

‘I was wondering if you two had any more wedding plans or news for us?'

‘Oh, Mum, no – we haven't really had much time lately to talk about it, what with Archie being so busy at work.'

‘Well, you need to talk about the church and of course, the dress – and obviously a date. You must have a date in mind?'

‘We were thinking about next Easter maybe – weren't we, Archie?'

‘Yes, yes, that's right – and if that would be OK with both of you?'

Bartlett snorted.

‘Of course it is. My word, it's not us getting married – you do whatever you like, we'll just string along. Isn't that right, Princess?'

‘Of course it is, dear. I don't think you were very happy about our wedding arrangements, were you?'

‘Only because your mother and her sister took over the entire proceedings and you didn't get what you really wanted.'

Caroline kissed her husband's head.

‘But George, dear, I got exactly what I wanted.'

Bartlett looked uncomfortable. ‘Stop being silly – and in front of these two.'

Boase and Irene laughed and Topper, letting out a sigh, went and lay on the mat.

By the next evening, it was apparent that Howard Smith had not returned to his caravan – and to his son. Bartlett had made it plain to Greet in no uncertain terms that this had been one enormous mess and that maybe an innocent man had been hanged because of shoddy and hasty investigations. Surprisingly, Greet offered no counter-attack.

‘I told you, Boase – he just doesn't care. I sometimes don't even think he's human. He just stood there like a tailor's dummy. Never said a word. He knows he's messed up on this. Now, that Smith – I want him. He's guilty of killing that man as surely as if he'd pulled the lever himself.'

‘That's a bit strong, sir.'

‘No it isn't, Boase. You can't have people going around accusing and giving false statements and evidence – especially in a serious case like this. You need to look at every tiny thing – you need to be accurate.
You
understand that, my boy – I know how disciplined and picky you are. That's what makes you so good at what you do. A policeman has to look at everything and not make hasty and impulsive decisions – Greet's failed in elementary skills here and, mark me, this is going to stick to him like glue.'

Boase was taken aback. He didn't ever remember Bartlett actually saying that to him before.

‘But why didn't Superintendent Greet make sure he
was
accurate, sir?'

‘My guess is that I've been right about him all along – he's a fake. He's been propelled up through the ranks simply because it was his turn – not because he was any good. Well, look at the trouble he's caused now – and how do we know he hasn't done this before?'

‘Well, what can we do now, sir? I mean, to put things right?'

‘Well, we can't raise the dead, Boase, but we can sure as hell catch that man and make him pay for what he's done.'

‘But there was
other
evidence, sir – against Edward James.'

‘Yes, I know, but that doesn't make that man's actions all right. He was the first ‘witness' and now we know he couldn't wait to stitch up Edward James – simply as revenge. It's unbelievable. If Greet hadn't intervened, I know we would have had a different outcome. Greet took the lead from Smith's statement and made everything else fit around it. I'm sure of it. And, by keeping us at bay, we weren't able to stop him. This is a bad business, Boase, a very bad business. This isn't what policing is about – this isn't how it's supposed to work.'